“Well… it’s just that, I need companionship, Gregson. I can’t keep going at it alone,” Dan said.

Gregson listened… not the overly sensitive type.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“I feel that I owe you that much, after what happened at the academy. You remember when I fell in love with our instructor, and you took the fall?”

“How could I forget?” Dan said. “I told her I put you up to it—and even then, she didn’t believe me, and I still got the can.”

“It was a sacrifice.”

“Not really,” Dan said. “After I got kicked-out, I became a successful writer. If it wasn’t for that, I might’ve gotten shot on the street.”

“You never had good instincts,” Gregson said.

“Come by the marina before we go to book club, and I’ll show you my yacht.”

“Okay.”

Gregson’s week was filled with cigars and scotch, toast and eggs. He read his favorite writers. They were always using cyanide to kill-off some poor clueless bloke.

Somehow, Gregson got depressed thinking about it—it just wasn’t the real thing.

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